


The Cutting One-Shots

by Emmastar1133



Category: British Actor RPF
Genre: Concerned Ben, Cutting, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, I'm a drama llama, Martin Freeman is mentioned, Problems, Secrets, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-03
Updated: 2015-06-24
Packaged: 2018-02-28 02:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,104
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2716253
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Emmastar1133/pseuds/Emmastar1133
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is similar to my other fic, but it's just going to be one shots of different scenarios for a different person each chapter to find out that you're cutting.</p><p>The third chapter is different, with the reader finding her boyfriend cutting.</p><p>--please note: I do not encourage cutting, it's a serious problem, and I will always listen if anyone needs to talk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Please Tell Me (Tom Hiddleston x Reader)

**Author's Note:**

> Here is your official trigger warning for this work.
> 
> Thank you for reading!

It had been a long day of filming. You had been chosen to play the next villain on BBC's Sherlock, with your boyfriend's best friend Benedict Cumberbatch.

You were finally able to take off your long-sleeved black dress, and wash the fake blood off of your hands and arms.

While you were at the sink, Benedict strode over to you. He was carrying your cardigan, which you'd left by the dressing rooms by mistake.

"Y/n!" He looked surprised. "I didn't recognize you at first, you look so different in costume." 

You laughed. "I get that a lot, actually. I just feel more comfortable when I'm playing a character who doesn't look like me."

He smiles. "Well, I just wanted to give you this," he says, handing you the cardigan. "And--"

He stops, frowning at you. You follow his gaze, straight to your wrists. You turn your arms so he can't see the cuts anymore, then fake a smile up at him.

"Sorry, Ben. You were saying?"

"…what happened to your arms?"

"Nothing." You shrug on your cardigan. He bites his lip for a minute, as if about to say something, but changes the topic.

"You did really well today."

"Thanks, Ben. It's my first time doing anything this big, so I'm kind of nervous."

"Nonsense. We don't bite. Well, Martin, maybe, if he doesn't get his coffee…"

You both laugh and begin to recall the times when Martin has been the most ferocious, until you're out on the main street. Benedict hails you a cab, kisses your cheek, and gives you a cheerful-sounding, "see you tomorrow!"

But his eyes look worried, like the girl he's seeing isn't the real you at all.

 

* * *

The entire next day is stressful. You're glad your boyfriend is filming in Chicago, because it allows you to relax at home, even though you miss him like crazy.

The whole day of filming consists of you and Benedict doing a scene, then Ben looking at you with a worried expression, then Martin looking at  _Ben_ with a worried expression. Then you all go back into character to do another scene, and the cycle continues.

At the end of the day, you wash up as quickly as possible, hoping to avoid any further questioning about your wrists. But it seems Benedict can read your mind.

"Y/N," he says seriously. "Can we talk for a minute?"

There is no logical reason for you to say no, other than the truth, but the truth is the reason he wants to talk in the first place… ugh.

"Yeah, sure. Just give me a minute to dry my hands." 

As you reach out for the paper towel, your sleeve slips and shows two cuts on your right wrist. You correct it quickly, looking up to see if he noticed; but when you do, his gaze is locked with yours, one eyebrow raised in questioning.

_Concerned Ben is concerned._

The minute your hands are dry, he turns and strides off to his dressing room, obviously intending you to follow. The man has the legs of a giraffe, and you are struggling to keep up.

Always the gentleman, he holds the door open for you, following you inside and pulling it shut with a snap.

"Show me your arms."

"Ben-- I--"

" _Now_ ," he commands, with a stern expression.

He gently takes your hands, and cautiously pulls back your sleeves, revealing all of the cuts and scars. How you'd managed to hide them up until now was a mystery to you, but now someone had found out. His face was expressionless as he looked up at you. 

"When?"

You sigh. "This all started two months ago, just before my boyfriend left for Chicago. I don't know why. I just started worrying that I wasn't - that I'm  _not_ good enough for him. And now we've got a long distance relationship, so he's not here to find out, and it just keeps getting worse."

"When does your boyfriend get back from Chicago?"

Does he really not know? Has Tom somehow forgotten to mention you? Sure, your relationship isn't public - Tom would rather keep his relationships a secret, away from the press - but did he really not tell his best friend? Oh well. You'd ask him about it later.

"Soon, actually. Um… the day after tomorrow at the earliest."

"Is there any chance I could talk to him?"

"You know him." You're dreading what this conversation will cause…

"What his name?"

"…Tom."

Benedict frowns.

"Surname?"

You don't want to say it. If there's any  _one person_  you _don't_ want to know about this, it's Tom. But you have to tell Ben the truth. He'll find out in the end anyway.

"Hiddleston," you say weakly. It's only a matter of time before your secret is out completely.

* * *

 

You can't sleep. The only thing you can think about is what Tom will do when he finds out. The anxiety is starting to take over, and it's taking everything you have not to cut again.

Suddenly, you hear a noise at the door. Your first thought is that it's a burglar. Your second thought is that you can hear the quiet jingle of keys. Burglars don't use keys or make as much sound as the person downstairs is making. Then you realize.

_Tom._

As soon as he reaches the top of the stairs, he seems to be trying to make an extra effort not to make any sound. You can hear him brushing his teeth, then padding into the bedroom, dropping his clothes to the floor before climbing into bed next to you. You roll over and wrap your arms around him. He starts at first, but quickly wraps his arms around you in return.

"I wasn't expecting you to still be awake," he says quietly.

"I wasn't expecting you to be home for another two days," you mumble in response.

"We finished filming earlier than I expected. And I missed you," he says, pulling you into a deep kiss.

You respond eagerly, hands all over. He laughs. 

"Ehehehe. Patience, darling."

He slowly pulls off the shirt you're wearing, noticing it's one of his dress shirts instead of your normal nightgown.

"I missed you too," you said, defending your choice of clothes. "The shirt smells like you, it was comforting."

"Mmm," he acknowledges, unhooking your bra and pulling it off, followed by your panties.

He kisses you again, this time touching and caressing you in all the right ways. He ghosts his thumb over your clit, until you need friction so much that you buck your hips against his. At this, he begins rubbing you harder, faster, murmuring dirty nothings in your ear until you come undone beneath him, crying out his name softly as he pushes you through your orgasm.

He makes sure you are sufficiently wet enough for him, before lining himself up with your entrance and thrusting himself into you. He pulls out slowly before thrusting in hard again, building up a quick rhythm that has you both moaning within seconds. It's been two months, and you've both missed each other a _lot_. 

All too quickly, you both climax together, with a few final, arrhythmic thrusts. You give each other one final, passionate kiss for the night before you both fall asleep, with Tom still inside of you.

* * *

 

 The next afternoon was when he found out.

You were busy with getting all of the extra accessories off, as your character had worn a completely impractical but totally gorgeous dress, and had proceeded to go crazy with the accessories. So much so, that you needed help taking the whole thing off again.

Tom was there to pick you up, and was waiting for you by your dressing room when Ben approached him. They both exchanged greetings, the usual talk about parents and movie projects, but Benedict pulled Tom aside.

"Can I talk to you for a minute? About Y/N?"

* * *

 You step out of your dressing room, having changed back into your regular street clothes. As soon as you step out of the door, Tom wraps you up in a bear hug. As he pulls away, he looks into your eyes, frowning. "I need to talk to you."

He makes normal conversation with you on the drive home, talking about filming for Sherlock, and his project in Chicago. He opens your door for you, and acts like everything is fine.

But as soon as you both step into your house, he ushers you into the living room. He gestures to the sofa, seating himself in a red armchair, facing you.

"Darling… please show me your arms," he says gently.

You can't stand to make eye contact, looking at the floor while you push your sleeves back to expose your wrists.

He takes your hands in his, running his thumbs over your wrists.

"I've been talking with Ben," he says quietly, after a minute. "I wish you'd told me."

"…I was too afraid to."

"Darling, please don't be afraid of me. I will never do, say, or think anything about you that would hurt you."

"I know that."

"I will do everything I can to help you. Anything you want or need. …I love you."

You look up at him, doing everything within your power to keep from crying.

"I love you too."

And he holds you, rubbing your back as you cry into his shoulder. 

It's going to be okay.

 


	2. You're Home Early (Benedict Cumberbatch x reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to Rachelrose, who requested a Ben x Reader :)

Filming had been great. You were working on a movie with with Benedict Cumberbatch, who played your character's boyfriend. You only wished your  _actual_ boyfriend, Connor Douglass, could be anything like the one you had on-screen.

It started with little things, like the lotion you put on every morning. He complained about it, saying you should get rid of it. Something about the bottle taking up too much space on your nightstand.

Then, one morning,  _everything_ bothered him. You didn't dress right, you didn't talk right, you didn't do anything the way he suddenly wanted.

So he hit you.

You got a few curious looks when you came in to work that day with a black eye, but you just lied to a few people, and the makeup department covered everything.

But at home, it got worse. You'd tried to break up with him, but it had only resulted in more injuries. There was nothing you could do to get away from him between going to work. Another black eye and a sprained wrist later, you were beginning to give up hope.

You fell back on a habit from your teenage years, and began cutting your wrists. You needed affirmation that you had the same amount of power over your pain that your boyfriend did. You needed to know that he wasn't the only one who could make you feel that way, and that you had equal power.

It was almost working.

But halfway through filming, you had to shoot the sex scenes with Ben. Two things happened.

First, Connor noticed your script. You were a truly afraid he might kill you, as he was throwing things and hitting you in a jealousy-induced fit of rage.

Second, you had to go completely topless.

You weren't ashamed of your body. You considered yourself to be pretty and in good shape, and had always maintained that if anyone didn't like the way you looked, then that was their problem, and not yours. 

You weren't ashamed of your body. Only the scars that adorned it.

* * *

 Ben was a sweetheart and a gentleman. He took off his shirt between takes, and insisted that you wear it, because you "looked cold" (you were perfectly fine, but it's hard to say no to Benedict).

As soon as you wrapped up filming for the day, you practically ran to the dressing room, to pull on your long sleeved dress as fast as you could.

You heard someone knocking on the door, and jogged over to open it. It was Ben.

"Can I talk to you for a minute, sweetheart?"

"Uh, sure. Yeah, come in."

He seated himself on the edge of the faded red sofa at the back of the room.

He leaned forward towards you. "Your boyfriend. Connor?"

"…yeah? What about him?"

"How is he?"

"He's doing alright. At least it's what he tells everyone…"

"And how are  _you?_ "

You start to answer, but he holds out a hand to cut you off. " _Honestly._  How are you _really?"_

"I'm not good," you reply, not smiling anymore, no longer attempting to put up a fake illusion of happiness.

"What can you… show me? May I have a look at your arms?"

Reluctantly, you pull your sleeves back. Bruises. Welts. Cuts.

"Honey, what has he been doing to you?"

"I don't think-"

"Tell me. Everything."

And so you do. You watch his face change from concern, to horror, to disgust. You've only told him what Connor has done, not wanting him to know that the cuts on your arms are your own doing. He's shocked nonetheless.

"And you still live with him?"

"Ben, I  _can't get out._ "

"Today we're going to change that. You're moving in with me."

"No, I can't do that to you…"

"Nonsense. No, you're staying with me, and I absolutely refuse to take no for an answer."

* * *

 

Ben's flat was lovely. He'd been great about you staying with him, but you still did extra laundry and all of the dishes, even though he playfully scolded you and said you really shouldn't.

You were hiding the texts.

Connor had figured out where you were, but couldn't figure out how to get to you. He couldn't get in to the building, thanks to the heavy security that the building had due to its multiple celebrity inhabitants.

But he could still text you whenever he wanted.

You'd blocked him, but he'd switched numbers every time. You couldn't switch your phone number, because it was the only way you were connected to your family, who all lived across the country. So you just ignored the texts.

Or tried to.

One afternoon, while Ben was still filming, you were curled up on the sofa reading fanfiction, when you started getting texts. 

**hey bitch. so how's your new life with ben? does he even care about you or is he just being nice?**

 

**do you miss me? because i don't miss you. i can get myself a new whore any time i want. they all love me.**

 

**you deserved all i ever gave you. you deserved the pain, and i deserved to be able to give it to you.**

 

**you know what? i don't even care about you lol. go kill yourself or something.**

 

They kept getting worse, until you found yourself sitting on the floor of the bathroom with your razor blade, staring at your wrists as they bled heavily. You didn't want to live anymore.

You scribbled out a note to Benedict, an apology for what you were about to do.

_Dear Ben:_

_Sorry I dragged you into all of this. It was a mistake, and if I'd never met Connor, this never would have happened._

_There's one thing I left out when I told you the whole story. I've been cutting myself. It's an old habit, one for control, but also release._

_And I've decided I truly just want release. I'm letting go of everything._

_I just wanted to write this to apologize for everything I have and am about to put you through. One last thing:_

_I love you._

_Goodbye, Benedict._

_\--(y/n)_

You left the note on the countertop, then made your way to the balcony. It was a 15-story drop, and would kill you instantly. It would also keep from leaving Benedict with a mess. But this wasn't how you wanted to do it.

Instead, you went to the smallest bathroom, the one he said he never uses. You ran the water for a shower, waited for the water to warm up, then got in, clutching your razor blade. You were cutting at your wrists until, gradually, the world around you faded and went dark.

* * *

 

Ben's world was happening in slow motion. This wasn't real. It couldn't be real.

He was running to find you, but his legs couldn't move fast enough. He'd read the note quickly, not believing it. This couldn't be happening.

He found you lying in the bathroom floor. There was so much blood. Too much blood…

The ambulance arrived quickly, they sped the pair of you away to the hospital, checking your vitals and calling ahead to get the emergency room prepared.

It was a day and a half before you opened your eyes again.

You were fearful once you realized that you were still alive. As soon as you regained consciousness, your heart rate increased, causing Ben to look up sharply. 

"Don't you _ever fucking_   _do that to me ever again,_ " He says quietly. "I love you," he continues gently.

"I won't, I promise, I… I love you, too," you reply.

You're with Ben, and he will keep you safe.

 


	3. Way Back When (Tom Hiddleston/Reader)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tom is widely known to be a happy person. But this hasn't always been true.
> 
> (Teenaged Tom/Reader)

You can't sleep. Your boyfriend, Tom, is out like a light, curled protectively around you, occasionally snoring softly. You look over at his face, he looks so peaceful and relaxed when he's asleep.

You're one of the only people who really remembers the pain he went through as a teenager. You had been fairly close for several years when you found out a secret of his, a secret he'd kept well-hidden.

\-- _Flashback_ \--

"Hey, Tom? Can you help me with my homework? We're reading _A Midsummer Night's Dream_ and I legitimately have _no_ idea what's going on."

You're knocking on his bedroom door, having nodded a "hello" to Emma as you entered the house, and having been pointed up to Tom's room by his little sister.

It's unusual for Tom to have his bedroom door locked, but he's been a little… _off_ , in the year and a half since his parents' divorce. Since then, the pair of you have become very close friends, almost always over at each other's houses.

You're almost certain that you're the only one who's noticed, but you're beginning to get a little worried about him. 

You knock on the door again, and after a minute, you hear him mumble, "Go away."

You frown. "Tom? It's me, it's (y/n)."

"Yeah, I know. Now's not- Right now isn't a good time."

"Are you okay?" He's seriously not acting like himself.

"I'm… I'm fine."

"Um… see you later then…"

"…Yep."

You're completely unconvinced, of course, so you start thinking of other ways into his room. Then you think of something: the balcony. A couple months ago, you'd built a fort outside, that had eventually been extended into his room so he could get supplies more easily. The balcony was an easy climb, and his room was right on it.

With that in mind, you run outside and around the house to the balcony, climbing the ladder that had been nailed there several summers ago. Once on top, it's easy to get to Tom's bedroom windows. He has all the curtains drawn, so he won't see you coming. Probably.

The windows themselves are really old, and fairly easy to open from the outside. Conveniently, they aren't locked, so you choose the one that's missing a screen, and push it open. You hop inside his room, and he jumps up from where he's been lying on the floor.

"(Y/n) I told you I'm fine."

"No, you're not. And besides, if you're _fiiiiiiine_ , then you can help me with my English homework."

He rolls his eyes. "Okay, is there any way I can convince you to ask me about this _tomorrow_? And maybe I could also convince you _not_ to break into my room in the future?"

You pretend to think about it. "No and no."

He shakes his head. "Well, let's see how quickly we can get this over with, then." You shove him, and he grins. But it's half-hearted, like he's making an effort to try to be in a good mood.

Which is odd. He's always in a good mood. Right?

"So!" He folds his arms, then says dramatically, "Shakespeare."

"Right. How do you read this stuff? I can't even tell if they're really speaking English," you admit helplessly.

He scoffs, then turns up his nose, pretending to be snooty. "Well, _young lady_ , you see, _Shakespeare_ is an _art_. I suppose _you_ wouldn't understand…" He gives you the same smile he gave you earlier, like it's a smile that isn't really happy.

"No, but really," he says seriously. "Where are you? What part are you stuck on?"

You find your book, and point to a general section.

"Ah," he says, nodding. He begins reading through the scene, stopping to explain certain things, making sure you can understand what's going on.

You read together for about half an hour, and by the end of your time together, he seems happier. 

It's a hot Saturday afternoon, so you take off the hoodie you'd been wearing that morning. Tom, however, is still wearing a dark gray sweatshirt, and it's a pull-over, so he can't unzip it. But he hasn't even pushed the sleeves back.

"Aren't you overheating?" You ask, but he just shrugs.

You check your watch, it's nearly 5:30, so you quickly hug goodbye to Tom, and begin jogging home. But when you're about halfway there, you realize you e forgotten your hoodie.

You race back and burst into Tom's room. He jumps and drops something with a clatter, staring at you wordlessly.

"Forgot my hoodie," you explain, blushing. He nods, reaching behind him and then handing you a neatly folded bundle.

"Thanks." You notice that his pale wrist has something red on it, but you don't get a long enough look to say exactly what it is.

"You should go, you don't want to keep your parents waiting," he says quietly.

"They can wait a couple minutes. Show me your wrist, there's something on it," you reply.

"No."

"Oh my god, don't be childish." You look up at him, he's not smiling.

"Fine, I'm sorry, I'll go. But, Tom, are you- are you okay?"

"I'm- yeah." There's that smile, twisted, like he's in pain. As you look into his eyes, there's a look that crosses them, that you've never seen on Tom before. Deep sadness, as if he's remembering a life that he could've saved, and wishing he could go back and change time.

You turn to leave, but on your way out, you trip over something. 

It's a razorblade. You pick it up, hand it to Tom without really thinking about it, and begin your way home again. But you notice blood on your hand, and it's not your own.

This time, you know you're not taking 'no' for an answer.

You burst back into his room, grab his arm, and push his sleeve back. His pale wrist is filled with cuts, neat, straight lines near his palms but then growing progressively deeper and more jagged, as if he began to lose control.

"Have you told anyone about this?" You're slightly shocked, but the razorblade was a bit of a clue-in. Still, this is Tom, the guy at your school that everyone loves, the boy who's always grinning, who seems happy no matter what.

He won't make eye contact. "(Y/n), I don't have anyone to talk to."

"What about me? What about your _family_?"

"You're a friend, but, I'm just afraid you'll back away from me, you'll stop being friends with me and try to fix me instead, and I don't want that!"

He takes a deep breath, pulling his sleeve down to cover his wrist.

"And as for my family… well, they're the reason I've become the way I am. I mean, my mother has always told me to be happy. And I try. But I don't understand, I don't know what the secret is! How? How am I supposed to keep smiling after each day when it's really not honest? My happiness is a lie." He looks up into your eyes, waiting for you to interrupt. You let him continue. 

"My parents split up, and they were all 'Don't blame yourselves, there's nothing you can do.' But I always felt like _I_ did something wrong. My family was so happy, and I've always felt since the split that I did something to make my family break apart."

You frown. "But what about your sisters?"

"I don't know. It's… just a feeling."

"So that's what this is?" You ask. "You don't have anyone to talk to, so you've just been drowning in guilt for a year and a half?"

"I don't know, I don't want it to sound so melodramatic. But since I started feeling upset, sad, confused, _whatever_ \- since the divorce, I've been, well, _depressed_.  And it's sort of unexplainable. I don't really know, I just feel guilty, or sad, or just no emotions at all."

You're speechless for a moment. "But, Tom, you can't- people can't just bottle up their emotions like that. You'll explode."

"I vent by cutting." He rubs his eyes quickly, trying to keep tears out of them.

Not knowing what else to do, you move to sit closer to him and wrap your arms around him.

He holds you tightly, like a lifeline. He's crying quietly, still trying to hold it in. You move so you're lying down, and he loses it completely.

A year and a half of bottled up anger, sadness, and depression.

You call home and make up an excuse for missing dinner, so you stay and eat with the Hiddlestons instead. Sarah asks Tom about why he's wearing long sleeves on such a warm night, but he shrugs and just says nothing else is clean.

That day changes your relationship with him, and you're much closer after that. He seems to pull out of it at first, and talking about it seems to have helped. But then he falls back on old habits one night, three years later. He calls you up at 1 AM, but you're already asleep. 

You check your messages when you wake up the next morning, and you're surprised that he'd call you at such an hour, but you play the message.

"(Y/n), I need you to help me. Please, if you're awake, I need you to come over. I don't-" And the message cuts off.

You immediately dial his phone number, and it rings for a minute before you get his voicemail.

You get dressed haphazardly, running out the door barefoot, sprinting down the block. You pound at the front door of his house. His mother opens the door, surprised but smiling, holding a cup of coffee. "Good morning, (Y/n), I don't think Tom's awake yet." She checks her watch and frowns. "Normally he'd have been up half an hour ago. Well, it's good to sleep in."

"Actually, I need to talk to him, it's urgent, can I come in?"

She barely has time to say "Of course-" and step out of the way before you run past, calling "Thanks!" over your shoulder.

You rush upstairs, pounding on his bedroom door, with no reply. You shove it open, his bed is empty, he's sprawled out on a chair, staring at the ceiling.

"I haven't slept," he mumbles. He's a mess. He's shirtless, wearing a pair of pajama bottoms. You gasp, seeing his wrists, they've been viciously attacked, the razor thrown carelessly on the carpet a few feet away.

You approach him cautiously, like you'd appeoach a trapped wild animal, trying to keep from provoking it. "Tom? How long ago did you do this?"

"Dunno… somewhere… around five n'the morning…" He slurs.

It's coming up on ten now, even at the sluggish rate he's bleeding, he'll bleed out soon.

"Tom, I'm so sorry about this. I know you wanted to keep this as a secret, you said you'd try to fix it yourself. You said you didn't want me to help you. But that's what you need. I'm helping you. I'm sorry."

You run to the phone and dial the nearest hospital. They send an ambulance, it arrives within ten minutes, just as he blacks out.

He comes to, a day and a half later. But he's pulled out of it. For whatever reason, he's fine.

They've bandaged him up, given him blood, and prescribed him with antidepressants. But he ends up not needing them. He really is happy. No one ever really understood what happened, his family didn't really bring it up again.

He takes you to prom, the next school year. You've been dating ever since. But in all that time, he's never explained what happened.

\-- _End flashback_ \--

Still unable to sleep, you're fidgety, trying to get comfortable. Tom wakes up, still sleepy. 

"What is it, darling?"

"I just can't sleep."

"Well, then, I'll keep you company."

"I was just- Tom?"

"Mmm?"

"It's- I don't know, just, do you remember when we were really young, and… you, well, you…"

He frowns. "Tried to kill myself?" He suggests softly.

"Sort of. I was thinking about after that though. You didn't need any medication, therapy, anything. How did that happen?"

He thinks about it for a few seconds, while you play with one of his hands. Examining his long, thin fingers. Perfect piano-playing hands… among many other talents.

"I don't really know. I was truly depressed, but it sort of melted away, as if it was never there. The thing is, after that, I valued life more. I realized I only had one life. I mean, I'd known that I only had one, but that point was where I really _realized_ it… does that make sense?"

You suddenly think of something. "Has it ever come back? Do you get depressed and just _hide_ it, smiling like you used to?"

He leans over and kisses your cheek. "No, it never has. And I won't hide it if it ever does. I'm not going to keep it from you, if that's what you're worried about."

You're suddenly sleepy. "Yeah…" You yawn. "You know me too well."

Tom glances across the room, to the coat whose pocket contains a very special box. A small velvet box. One you don't know about yet.

He chuckles. "I love you, my darling girl."

"I love you too… and I'll help you with _whatever_ you feel…" And with that, you're asleep.

He wraps his arms around you, closing his eyes. _But you can't help how nervous I feel, for the answer you'll give me tomorrow…_

**Author's Note:**

> If you liked this and want more, please leave a suggestion in the comments :)


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